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About Alison Leslie Gold

Posts by Alison Leslie Gold:

they could not have been better moisture in the wheat riots in Belfast and Derry best to refuse she trained herself not to ask figures running in agreement memories of Morris a calm, hovering force a nun at some point too many notes let the piano do the grace notes this solemnity what? dignified on(…)

from grey-pink heavily nibbled by mice and then, then it’s furry breath over the cloister roof a slammed door the gate of sorrows that short slope into searing light impossible to know as moisture is drawn from it not once finally footprints to the horizon built of mud bricks only when the(…)

the terrible events unparalleled national humiliation looking, and looking away at the same time had he lived wooden crosses still stood greater and stronger this shortage Jean Améry the true nature marked out as a victim islands of amnesia bodily being under its wheel it was and is turn back time the extravagant(…)

it wasn’t allowed by the Maharaja another titled visitor the discovery without a knowledge of time whiskey for both of them smart talk a landlord standards of wealth in a sickroom ‘poor Sarojini’ full of the pain he felt for their circumstances Spaniards or part-Spaniards her lover no one among us young nipples sticking up(…)

have the stomach for it awake or asleep scaly ancestors private white flesh he’s mistaken drunk on the word of God worse than Welsh as if her hand slackens in his learning Polish start to plait it are, were all the world’s a menial close the gates when to give up bring the eels

he was an s.o.b. a shot at happiness invariably late this time a time before Eddie waited for her with Alma that sick dog look in his eyes ‘my father said the same thing he always says’ it’s okay after all never much of a friend

they were the first in the cafe a trace of scent made do discomfiture had flecked of necessity at twenty to six in the Running Footman lies of silence Spanish shoes coming in the bedroom window battered briefcase light dust brushed Spanish shoes on the way to York a whiff of Marmite the afternoon that(…)

the ashes of DH Lawrence secret maps in Inverness in 1970s ‘cycling my bike home from the station’ filled with live ants women and stallions ridiculous, glorious connection burning and impatient fury with birdsong left the poem behind it a holy place freely available the pile was going to topple birds hot dinners a woman,(…)

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Books By Alison Leslie Gold

The Potato Eater

The raw true story of Padric, a gay hustler from the Bronx who spent 1941-1965 in and out of 20 prisons

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Fill the form above to receive an exclusive preview of Alison Leslie Gold's new book, " The Woman Who Brought Matisse Back From the Dead", including a rare nude photograph of Claude Foot herself while modeling in Paris around 1950.

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tucking up their sleeves for hours twenty miles of view cheerful trim among the trees that and nothing else ‘in a gush’ suggestion of rain scarlet calico where no one loves him ‘I don’t die, I don’t fall in love’ roared like a millionaire one more wench new clean words bridle Harriet’s tongue(…)

eighty-nine shirts his strong sons rows of green mountains burnt carrot powder many times folded ‘it is possible to make the world new’ those short legs cleaned of young turnips even the woodcutter such idiocies in his roomy elbow-chair pale as clay coffee, bread and butter it’s prune oven a day in a thousand convoy(…)

confidence of those roads sad attics a smile from her could be unwelcome would be dust back from Bingo Rembrandt alone never telling Noel played the tin whistle all grace notes half-forgotten now blocking the way green knit cap almost malicious blotting pad and a pen less than no money almost defiant ‘I’ll go(…)

her own brother the best Catholic families bed-life a bosom without nipples which funeral to go to a classmate at Yale nothing in return someone from home eyes only for David L. Jenkins more than friendship sister Amy married a classmate between her shoulders without her nightgown lace, satin second floor landing helpless persons(…)

too busy to leave out of hubbub cheerful little cries quivering voice an egg for Irma any taste at all half attractive, half repellent turn by the church the Protestant parts hallow lagoons son of a dentist among olives hazy green of olives curiosity and kindness thick and damp no ignoramus courtesy itself flounced out(…)

the long voyage dangling greasy rags brackish freckles with satisfied spite male and female twins equally slapped about the beggar woman had pinched her bare feet spanking dueling scars replaced by villas paved path two women live in the ruin also turning gray like a hiker avoiding it refused to take head of not(…)